


Disturbia

by hoechlinanddylan



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Humor, M/M, Original Character(s), Romance, Stiles doesn't know how to deal with feelings, Warlock!Stiles, Witchcraft, post 3b
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-14
Updated: 2016-07-14
Packaged: 2018-01-18 20:05:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1441123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hoechlinanddylan/pseuds/hoechlinanddylan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been two days since they had defeated the Nogistune….and Stiles, Derek, and Scott just can't seem to get a break. Not only did they have to deal with multiple deaths and the loss of their sanity, but now they have deal with the "new and improved" Kate Argent, and also a witch from San Francisco, who insists Stiles' magic will surface as soon as it was "sparked". Whatever that means…</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Disease of the Mind

**Author's Note:**

> Takes off right where 3B ends. Rated T for right now.
> 
> Update: It's been like...a year, so I've changed a few things and am finally picking back up and adding chapters. Stay tuned!

Derek propped himself up on the coffee table set in the middle of his loft and let out a pained sigh. The bullet went all the way through, but Kate must have brushed it with wolfsbane because it had been ten minutes and the wound hadn’t healed. It wasn’t enough to kill or do long-term damage like before but it was still painful as hell. He dug through his pants pocket and took out his phone.

“Hello?” Scott answered, his voice a little lost and harder than usual. He could hear voices in the background, and, judging by the time, school must have just ended.

“Scott,” Derek grumbled into the phone. “Kate’s back.”

There was a pause, and Derek heard Scott shushing whoever was talking. “Um, could you repeat that?”

Derek sighed and pushed himself painfully to his feet, hoping movement would help him heal faster. “Kate Argent. Chris Argent’s sister. She’s back.” He walked slowly to the window, and then back to the main sliding doors. “She came to my loft about ten minutes ago.”

“Wha—That doesn’t even make sense, Derek,” Scott scoffed, sounding a little more like his normal, aggravating self.

“Yeah, well, tell that to my bullet wound,” Derek said, gritting his teeth. “You need to get over here. Now.”

“I don’t even...” Scott sighed. “Fine. We’ll be over in a few minutes.”

“No, I didn’t say bring-” Derek started but Scott had already hung up. He growled in frustration. His injury was finally starting to heal, but at a glacial pace and it aggravated him. Why. Why was this always happening to him? A constant sequence of emergencies or tragedies or chaotic events that always kept him paranoid, on edge, and just plain exhausted. Couldn’t he have just one month, one week even, to just…breathe. A few days to figure out what the hell he was going to do about his uncle that kept disappearing for long periods of time. Or maybe to just install some goddamned electricity in his apartment. It felt like a fucking dragon lair.

It had been three days. Three days since Allison had died. Two days since they had finally caught the Nogistune. One day since Chris had left for France and taken Isaac with him, leaving Derek with no one, since Peter hadn’t shown up after the showdown. Ethan had left, haunted by the death of his brother, and Scott and Stiles had been making half-hearted attempts to put back the pieces of their broken lives. So Derek had been alone.

Which was fine. Great, even. He finally had time to think. But now, even that sliver of solace was ripped from him when his one vanquished nightmare of the past two years turned out to be not so vanquished. And a little more deadly.

Derek finished his sluggish pacing across his loft after a couple of minutes and checked the wound in the mirror on the wall. It was still ragged and angry looking, but it looked about a week old and the pain had subsided. He went to his drawer and pulled out a fresh t-shirt. He was down to about three that didn’t have any rips, holes, or bloodstains. Just as he was pulling off his ruined green shirt, the front door slid open.

“So Scott was saying something about—dude, do you _ever_ wear a shirt?” Stiles stopped in the middle of the apartment, dropping his backpack loudly on the coffee table. Scott, right behind him, slid the door closed quietly, and slowly walked further into the room.

Derek rolled his eyes and put on the new clothes. “You are aware this is my place, right?” Stiles just scoffed and plopped down on the couch, his head reclining back, closing his eyes. Scott sat next to him and Derek leaned on one of the posts.

“Sooo,” Scott started. “You said Kate’s back?”

“Yes.”

“Care to elaborate?” Stiles mumbled, eyes still closed.

“She knocked on the door. Backed me up with a shotgun. Proceeded to shoot me with said shotgun. Told me that she was going to make it her personal mission to ruin the lives of all the people involved in her and Allison’s deaths. And now that she doesn’t have a hunter’s code to live by, she said she could actually start to have some fun.” Scott groaned. “Also, she’s a were-leopard.” They both looked at him. “Apparently, Peter didn’t rip out her throat hard enough.”

“How do you not _rip out a throat_ hard enough?” Stiles asked.

Derek shrugged. “Why don’t you ask him?”

“Why are you so calm about this?”

“Would it make it easier if I freaked out?”

“It might make you a little more normal.”

“I’m starting to think tragedy and torture are what’s normal around here, so I think I’m reacting just fine.”

Stiles was quiet, which was unsettling. Both he and Scott hadn’t been themselves, which, under the present circumstances, was understandable. For two seventeen-year-old boys, they had seen enough horror and sadness in the last year to scar war veterans. Scott just lost his first true love, and almost lost his mom on top of that. Stiles…well, Stiles has just had a shit couple of weeks. Derek is probably going to let him have a free pass on the insults for the next six months.

He looked at Stiles’ pale face and sunken amber eyes.

Make that seven months.

“Kate Argent…is a were-leopard,” Scott said finally. Derek nodded. “We’re screwed.”

Derek shook his head. “Not really. I mean, a were-leopard, a werewolf, a were-coyote. No species is better than the rest. It all still depends on age, rank, and physical strength. She took me by surprise and still had to use a weapon. You and I together could defeat her easily.”

“Oh, great! Then let’s just take the bitch out and call it a day. Problem solved.”

“It’s not that easy, Stiles. She’s still an Argent. They’re cunning, patient, and efficient. She’s probably holed up in some untraceable warehouse and even if we found her, who’s to say it wouldn’t be a trap?”

Stiles thought about it. “So you’re saying…wait her out. Let her make her move and then while on the defense, make an offensive strike.”

“Yes.”

“I dig it.”

Scott sniffed lightly. “Why aren’t you healing?”

“Wolfsbane.”

Stiles groaned. “Oh god. Not again. Never again.”

Derek resisted the urge to smile. “The bullet went all the way through. And it was only dusted with wolfsbane, not fused with it. So, we’re good this time.”

“Thank God,” he shuddered.

Derek’s battle with not smiling was lost. “So, how are things at school?” he asked tentatively.

Scott hesitated. “Weird,” he said softly. “It feels like a weird dream.”

Derek walked over to him and put a tentative hand on his shoulder. “I’m not going to tell you that it gets better. But…it does get easier…eventually. I promise.” He looked over at Stiles. “You two have been through a lot. Enough to last a lifetime. But you guys are strong and deserve happy lives and I believe someday you’ll get it.”

Scott sighed and nodded. “Deaton said that the universe owes us big time for all the shit it put us through.”

Stiles snorted. “Did he use those exact words?”

“Yes,” Scott answered, with a ghost of a smile.

“Good. Then I’m going to celebrate our impending good fortune by devouring everything in Derek’s kitchen,” he said, getting up and heading toward the doorway behind the couch.

“Good luck finding anything,” Derek called after him. He squeezed Scott’s knee, giving him a small smile, and got up to follow Stiles.

But before he made it to the small doorway, there was a knock on the door.

He froze.

Scott stood up and came to stand by him. “I don’t smell anything weird.”

“Yeah,” Derek said slowly. “They’re human.”

Stiles came in from the kitchen with a bag of chips that he found God knows where. “Who is it?” he whispered loudly.

“We’re werewolves. Not psychics,” Derek mumbled walking slowly to the front door.

“Now, Derek, what did we learn today about opening doors when we’re not sure who’s on the other side?”

“Kate smelled familiar, Stiles,” he answered defensively. The person knocked on the door again, harder this time. Derek took a deep breath, looked back at Scott, who had taken a defensive position, turned back towards the door, and quickly slid it open, jumping aside and hiding most of his body from view.

“Wow. Someone’s on the defensive,” the girl said sarcastically. She was a full foot shorter than Derek, with clear, light caramel skin, and big brown eyes hidden behind black glasses. She smiled brightly, bearing silver braces. She looked like the most harmless kid Derek had ever seen in his life. “Expecting someone else?”

Derek took a second to get his heart rate back down, and stepped back in front of the doorway. “No, no. I just….sorry. Can I help you?” She didn’t look like hunter. Of any kind. Her dark jeans, Iron Man t-shirt, and black backpack made her look like any other kid milling around at the bus stop.

“Yeah. Hi, I’m Mia,” she greeted, holding out her hand. Derek shook it gingerly. “I’m looking for the Packmaster of Beacon Hills, actually.” Derek froze.

Scott stepped up the stairs to stand near Derek. “Packmaster? Do you mean Alpha?”

Mia smiled. “No.”

Scott looked at Derek, confused. “A Packmaster is just someone who leads and organizes a group of supernatural beings. They don’t need to be an Alpha. Some people even say that a group of hunters has a Packmaster. Packmasters from different groups often get together to discuss treaties, boundary lines, etc. ”

“Like Gerard and Deucalion?” Scott asked. Derek nodded.

Mia looked at Derek. “Yeah but in this case I specifically mean the werewolf Packmaster.”

Derek hesitated and looked at Scott, who shrugged. He sighed. “Come on in.”


	2. Don't Wanna Think About It

Stiles didn’t trust Mia. She gave him a weird feeling in the pit of his stomach. And not the good kind, either. Like, who was she anyway? A member of the San Francisco pack? Since when were packs organized by region? Derek never mentioned that. However, Derek never mentions a lot of things. Like the fact that for the past two days he’d been living off of stale chips and cobwebs. And it wasn’t like he couldn’t afford food. Derek was lazy, is what it was. He had no work ethic. He couldn’t even call Stiles and say, “Hey, dude! Could you bring me something to eat so I’m not starving to death in my super cool loft that I don’t let you hang out or watch TV in because I’m afraid you might ruin my brooding, loner reputation?” Nooooo. Derek was content to sit in the dark like a creepy creepster and waste away until all his rippling muscles had melted off of him.

“Stiles! What are you over there seething about?” 

Stiles snapped back to the conversation that was happening in front of him from his place on the couch. He looked at Scott. 

“What? Oh, nothing, dude. Sorry. What were we talking about?” 

Derek sighed. “We were talking about how Mia needs a place to stay since her Packmaster assigned her to Beacon Hills.”

“Why would he do that?”

“We just went over that, Stiles.”

“Well, I wasn’t listening, Derek.” 

“Then why are you even here?”

Mia laughed. “Oh my god. Are you guys married or what?” Scott disguised a chuckle with a cough. “I was told to go to Beacon Hills because it’s known to, like, half the state that the werewolf population here has been struggling since the Great Hale Fire. And now on top of that you guys seem to be attracting a lot of unwanted attention, and sooner or later, some pack is gonna try to force you to join them, or take you out.” 

“Too late,” Scott muttered. 

Mia raised her eyebrows. “What happened to them?”

“We handled it,” Derek told her vaguely. Stiles resisted the urge to roll his eyes. 

“Yeah?” Mia asked. “And you came out unharmed? Didn’t lose any pack members you couldn’t even afford to lose?” No one answered her. “That’s why you need me. I can help.”

“No offense,” Stiles started. “But you’re human. What can you do?”

“You’re human,” she pointed out.

“Yeah but I’m exceptional.”

She smiled. “I can see that.” 

Stiles couldn’t tell if she was flirting or not but it made him smile in return anyway. Little Jealous Derek cleared his throat. 

Mia explained, “I have experience being in a successful pack, so I can show you what you need to do in order to build your strength. Besides, I’m not simply human.”

Stiles narrowed his eyes. “What do you mean? What are you?”

“I’m a witch.”

Derek took a long look at her and lightly sniffed the air. “You hide it well.”

“So does he,” she said, pointing at Stiles. 

Stiles looked behind him, even though he knew no one was there. “Me?! You’re kidding right?”

Mia sat forward in her chair, her bushy black hair falling over her shoulders. “Dude, I can sense your power. No need to lie to me.”

“I’m not lying! I’m not a witch! No witchy powers here.”

“Technically, it would be warlock.”

Stiles scoffed. “Derek? Scott? Tell her. Tell her how ordinarily human I am.”

“I don’t think he’s a witch.”

“Thank you, Scott,” Stiles said, sitting back. “Derek?”

Derek hesitated, and then looked at him. “It would explain the mountain ash thing.” 

“What mountain ash thing?” Mia asked eagerly. 

“Derek, that’s hardly mentionable.”

“Stiles, you covered twenty feet with less than a handful of mountain ash, and still got the circle to work.”

“Okay, it was like five feet.”

“You told me it was twenty feet.”

“Yeah, well…” Stiles trailed off. The truth was, Stiles didn’t want to be magic. If he was magic, it meant that everything that had come to Beacon Hills to terrorize them, came because of him. Deaton had said that supernatural beings were drawn to power, especially uncontrolled power. Stiles just couldn’t be responsible for that much damage. 

“Hey,” Mia called to him. “Being a warlock is nothing to be afraid of. Once you can control your power, you will be an even greater asset to your pack.”

“Wha- stop reading my mind!”

“I’m not reading your mind. I’m reading your emotions.”

“Wow, because that’s not creepy at all.”

“Stiles.”

“What, Derek?!” Stiles stood up. “I’m not a warlock! This whole conversation is just insane. Who even are you, anyway, Mia? You think you can just come in here and tell me what I am and how we should run things here? Bullshit!”

“Stiles, I’m just trying to—”

“No! Do you even know what we’ve been through in the past two years? Hell, the past week? One of our closest friends just died, and now you’re telling me it’s because I’m a fucking warlock?!”

“I never said—!”

“You didn’t have to! You know what? Just save it.” Stiles turned on his heels and practically ran out of the loft. He was too worked up to wait for an elevator, so even though he was on the eighth floor, he booked it down the stairs, and out of the main building doors. 

He knew he had projected. He had projected big time. He had still felt guilty about the devastation caused by the Nogistune, even though he knew it wasn’t his fault. But now this girl from freaking San Francisco was telling him that he was possibly a warlock, and he couldn’t help thinking about what Deaton had said. The Nogistune…the alpha pack…Jennifer. Hell, maybe even the whole thing with the Kanima had happened because Stiles messed up Jackson somehow with his freaky wizard power. It was too much for Stiles and he felt like his head was about to explode. 

He felt someone coming up behind him from where he was gripping the railing that blocked the front entrance of the apartment building from the busy street. His knuckles were white and his hands were shaking. 

He closed his eyes. “Go away, Scott,” he said. “I don’t want to talk right now.” 

Stiles felt a shoulder brush up against his. “You know,” Derek started softly. “I may be wrong, but I think that was a bit of an overreaction.” 

Stiles opened his eyes. “Is she crying? Did I make her cry?” 

Derek shook his head. “No. But she looked like she was trying really hard not to.”

Stiles sighed. “God. What is wrong with me?”

“Do you want the short list or the long?”

“Was that—Did you just make a joke?”

Derek sniffed. “No.” 

“I think you did.”

“Can’t prove it.” 

Stiles just stared at him. 

“You should probably go in there and apologize.” 

“Yeah, I know.” They both just watched the cars go past for a few minutes, which was insanely calming for some reason. 

“Stiles…” Derek started. 

“What?”

“I just…I hope you know that, no matter what you are, or aren’t, all the things that have happened haven’t been you’re fault. There is a lot of evil in this world, and, yeah...Beacon Hills has had more than it’s fair share lately, but...bad things happen, Stiles. And if some things are drawn to your power, then so what? You didn’t know what you were, much less how to control it. What you are doesn’t define you and…it doesn’t have to impact your life if you don’t want it to.”

Stiles stared at him. “That was beautiful.”

“Shut up.”

“No, really. You should write a self-help book for supernatural creatures.”

“I’m going inside. I hope you get kidnapped by elves.”

“You’d just come save me.”

“No, I wouldn’t.”

“Keep telling yourself that,” Stiles smiled as Derek slammed the door. He considered what his life would be like if Mia was right, if he really was magic. He could actually participate in fights, instead of just planning them. Not that that had stopped him before. But now, if he got his powers under control, no one could yell at him afterwards for being reckless or impulsive. He still didn’t believe that, deep underneath the ADHD and clumsiness, there were untapped natural abilities. 

Stiles Stilinski, the Warlock. Destroyer of Worlds and Ruler of the Natural Elements. 

It did have a nice ring to it.


	3. Train of Thought Will Be Altered

“Since when are mashed potatoes crunchy?” Scott asked, his face bunching up with disgust as he tried to swallow the high school’s rancid food.

Stiles looked up from his history textbook and smirked at him. “Since Beacon Hills dropped our regular meal provider for a more…cost-efficient company. I’m surprised you couldn’t smell the bacteria before you took a bite.”

“Ugh!” Scott gagged and pushed his tray down the table, just barely missing the edge. “I’m never eating in this cafeteria again.”

Stiles rolled his eyes. “Says the werewolf who eats five meals a day.”

“I’m serious. Isn’t this inhumane or something?”

“It’s not inhumane if they sent a notification about the changes home with all of the students.”

Scott frowned. “I didn’t get a notification.”

“You got a notification, Scott.”

“When?”

“Um, a couple of Mondays ago.”

“I don’t remember that.”

“I didn’t think you would,” Stiles sighed. It had been two days after Allison had died. They were all either crying, in a daze, or both. Stiles’ dad tried to get them to stay home from school the next day but Stiles and Scott needed something normal to ground them after the few weeks they had, that weekend especially. It had been horrible, but it would have been even worse if they had stayed home with nothing to do but to think. The last thing they needed to do was think.

But it had been more than two weeks and, well, things weren't _better_. But the air wasn't as suffocating. They had passed Thanksgiving break numb but without a hitch. The gnawing feeling in his gut that something bad was about to happen had disappeared. He can tell Scott and the others feel the same way. Stiles just felt more in control. More focused.

Speaking of which…

“You don’t have history today,” Scott realized.

“Look at you. Being all observant and such,” Stiles complimented, as he turned another page.

“Today is Friday.”

“You’re on a roll.”

“Why are you reading your history textbook?”

“I have a test on Monday.”

Scott stared at him. “…So?”

“Soooo, I don’t want to fail. Because of the whole Nogitsune/sleeping-while-awake thing, I’ve been behind in like all of my classes.”

“... _So_?” Scott pressed.

“What do you mean ' _So_?'?! I have time now and the food is gross, so I’m studying. And I’m going over to Derek’s later so Mia can start my Hogwarts training. _So,_ I might not have time later. Thus…” Stiles shook the textbook and let it flop back on the table.

“Ah,” Scott said, his eyes still looking at Stiles suspiciously. But he let it drop for now. “I still don’t understand why Mia had you wait so long before she tested your powers,” he mused, pushing the apple that rolled off his tray around on the table. He was probably trying to sense if it was edible or not. Chances are it wasn’t.

“She said that she needed to wait until all the effects of the Nogitsune wore off before she could gauge where my power level is at naturally,” Stiles said, frustrated. Scott could probably feel how nervous and excited he was about the whole thing. He wouldn’t be a liability anymore once he accessed his magic. He would be an asset with a badass superpower like everyone else. Maybe Derek would make him wear leather, just to make it official.

“Yeah, well, that kind of makes sense,” Scott allowed.

“What makes sense?” Malia asked, plopping down next to Stiles. Her lunch consisted of three lone bags of Cheetos from the vending machine. Scott was looking at them with such longing, that Stiles reached into his back pocket and threw five dollars at him. Scott beamed and raced off to his heaven that was high caloric snacks.

“Scott and I were talking about my journey to becoming an all-powerful sorcerer,” he told her. “I would make you my shape-shifter apprentice, but Scott’s already claimed that position.”

“Oh the pity,” she mocked, tearing into the defenseless Cheetos bag with her claws.

“You know usually people open from the top, but you know, whatever. You do you.”

“Shut up, Stiles,” she said, rolling her eyes. Stiles did what he was told, smiling at her.

Last weekend he and Malia had a chat about what went down in the basement of the asylum. They both realized that, after three hours of non-possessed talking, they were completely incompatible. Completely. Like, they had 0% in common. She didn’t even like the Marvel movies, which was a deal-breaker for Stiles. Granted, Stiles had to marathon all of them for her last Sunday because she had missed almost a decade, but that’s no excuse. Marvel movies are heaven sent. Forced in a twelve hour setting or not.

“Any particular reason why Scott is hugging the vending machine?” Danny asked, walking up to the table with Lydia, staring in wonder over Stiles’ shoulder. Stiles turned around and sighed. Scott was practically sexually assaulting the snack dispenser, laying his head on the side and rubbing his hands down the glass. He hadn’t even put the money in yet.

See, this is why he and Stiles had no friends before werewolves came into the picture.

Stiles turned back around and just shook his head. Danny just chuckled and sat down across from Stiles with Lydia next to him. She had just come back to school on Monday and no one could fault her. She had lost her first love, just last April, and now her second love and her best friend, within days of each other. Stiles would’ve been on a self-pitying rampage by now. Which is why he had been over her house every day after school since it happened. Sometimes he and Lydia would talk about Allison or Ethan or how crappy their lives are. Sometimes they couldn’t bear it and so they talked about everything besides them. Other times he would just hold her in silence.

He looked over at where she was fixing her eyeliner in her compact mirror. “Hey, Lydia.” She glanced at him. “If you need a tutor, I’m here to help,” he said, pointing at his textbook.

She rolled her eyes and continued applying her makeup. “Oh, please. Give me next week, and you will never tell I missed a few days.”

“Oh, yeah?” Stiles asked, because he’s a jackass who loves messing with people. “Well, you can at least kiss your valedictorian spot goodbye, seeing as I turned in four extra credit assignments just this week,” he stated, fist pumping the air.

She froze and narrowed her eyes at him. “You did not.”

“Oh, princess, but I did.”

Lydia glared at him for about ten seconds slamming her mirror shut and shoving it in her purse. “Give me that stupid textbook,” she demanded, snatching it from his hands.

“Do you even know what page we’re on?”

“Shut up, Stiles,” she muttered, already engrossed in a random chapter about the Spanish-American War. He didn’t have the heart to tell her that the test was on the Renaissance. She’d figure it out on her own.

He looked over his shoulder and saw Scott enthusiastically talking to Kira about something while simultaneously plowing through a roll of Oreos. She was beaming at him like he was talking about curing puppy cancer using nothing but love and sunshine.

Stiles smirked and turned back to the table. Danny was correcting Malia’s mistakes on her Earth Science test, and Lydia was finally on the right page. For a moment, everything just seemed…okay. It was far from perfect and they still made up a weird conglomeration of damaged kids but that was Beacon Hills. Stiles took a deep breath and he could almost feel the last of the effects of the Nogistune melting off. He didn’t know how, but he could feel it. It was like waking up from a much needed nap. He hadn’t felt like this in months, since before the near-death experience he had in order to find his dad. It was refreshing. 

Things were finally looking up.

* * *

 

Things were not looking up.

This was the most stressful decision of his life. It was a decision that could make or break the next few weeks; one that could lessen or increase the stress in Stiles’ life. His mind was racing, thinking of the options he had and the implications and potential outcome of each one. He felt like his brain was about to explode and if he didn’t make a decision now, Stiles would go insane.

He sighed at the wall of possibilities and eventually threw the S’more’s flavored PopTarts into the cart. If Derek and Mia liked the plain ones better then they could drive to the supermarket and get their own damn snacks.

Of course they didn’t ask him to go, but Stiles knew Derek. Mia had probably lost, like, twenty pounds from starvation from the two and a half weeks of living with the former alpha. Or maybe she’d gained twenty pounds. Derek seemed like an eat-out-every-night kind of guy, if he bothered to get anything at all, and he shivered at the amount of empty calories and lack of nutrients the poor witch had to be consuming every day. Stiles stopped the cart near the produce aisle and threw in six different types of vegetables.

As he was turning around, he bumped into a solid chest. He looked up and saw intense blue eyes staring at him. “Oh, hey sorry, man,” Stiles said, backing away. He didn’t know why he was apologizing. The blonde man was all up in his personal space. And now he was staring at him like Stiles was an expert level Sudoku puzzle. But the dude was jacked, even more so than Derek, and kind of scared Stiles a little, so Stiles just smiled awkwardly and quickly pushed his cart to an open cashier.

“Well, that was weird,” Stiles mumbled to himself. But when he realized that he forgot the Oreos, the incident was promptly pushed out of his mind.

* * *

 

By the time Stiles made it to Derek’s apartment door with thirteen grocery bags evenly balanced between both hands, it was 4:35p.

“Deerreekk!” he called, a bag clenched between his teeth. He knew the jerk could hear him, but it felt like ages until Derek actually opened the door. Derek raised an eyebrow, but didn’t move out of the way.

“You’re late,” he said, lazily, because he’s actually the worst.

“Yeh, pfaannks, I ddidint notiss.”

“Those bags look heavy.”

“An ‘oar an ass’ole.”

“Wow. I’m offended,” he stated, starting to slide the door closed. Stiles immediately dropped all of the bags, besides the one with the eggs, grabbed the door, and slipped in past Derek.

“Now you carry them. Have fun,” he said, massaging his hands and working at his jaw. He plopped down on the couch and watched as Derek bent down and picked up all of the bags like they held feathers. He turned around and cocked an eyebrow at Stiles as he strutted into the kitchen. Stiles kind of hated him.

After three seconds of agonizing silence, Stiles followed him. The layout of the kitchen was simple and open, with big cabinets and clean, working appliances. Too bad it was never used.

Stiles sighed. “Is Mia dead? Is that why she’s not here? Did she die of starvation? Please tell me you had some type of memorial for her and didn’t just toss her body in a dumpster or something.”

Derek looked at him and then took a peek inside one of the bags he placed on the counter. “You didn’t have to buy me groceries.”

“Yeah, but that’s me. I’m a giver. Give, give, give with no reward.” Derek just grunted and proceeded to stock his cobweb-filled shelves. “Okay, but is Mia actually dead? Where is she?”

“She went to pick up Deaton,” he said, staring at a bunch of bananas like he didn’t know what they were.

“If you tell me you’re strictly a carnivore, I’m walking out and you’ll never see me again.” Derek just glared at him and gingerly put the fruit into the refrigerator. Stiles was going to force him to eat at least one before he left. Just to see if he would spontaneously combust.

“And what do you mean, she’s picking up Deaton? She doesn’t have a car and he’s on the other side of town.” Derek just continued unpacking the wide array of food. Stiles narrowed his eyes. “Derek Hale, did you let an adolescent female take your Camaro?”

Derek hesitated. “She’s older than you are.”

“What? No she isn’t.”

“She’s nineteen, Stiles.”

Wow. He did not see that one coming. Mia looked fifteen, sixteen at best. Did witches age differently? Is that why Stiles had looked ten years old until his freshman year in high school? He made a note to ask Mia about it when she got back.

“Since when do you loan expensive material objects to random chicks you just met two weeks ago?”

Derek leaned back on the counter, crossed his arms, and quirked an eyebrow, because that’s all he knew how to do with his face. “Is someone jealous?”

Stiles scoffed, “No. I’m just saying it’s not like you.”

Derek sighed and rubbed his hands over his face. “I know but…” He looked at Stiles. “Have you felt any different in the last two weeks? Calmer? Lighter…?” He trailed off.

“Safer?” Stiles finished for him after a moment. Derek nodded. “Yeah, I have. I just thought that it was because I was finally getting over all the trauma that had happened.” He had first noticed the change a couple of days ago when he caught himself belting Britney Spears’ “Toxic” when it had come on the radio, like he hadn’t just been possessed by a Japanese demon.

Derek shook his head. “When Mia said she came to help, she hadn’t just meant with leading the pack. She meant in general, helping with the pain, the grief, the instability.”

“She can do that?”

Derek nodded. “She’ll tell you more about it today, but certain witches have certain skills, certain capabilities.”

“And hers is what? Happiness and rainbows for all?”

“No,” he said, rolling his eyes. “Her power is healing. Emotional, physical, whatever. That’s why you’ve probably been more relaxed or focused because it’s been helping you heal.”

That sure would explain Stiles’ newfound interest in school lately. For the last few weeks, he had been on top of his homework and studying more rigorously for tests. Had this distraction been helping him heal? Probably.

“And her healing for you is what? Trust? Seems like she just wanted your car, dude.”

Derek shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe? All I know is that she’s not doing it on purpose. All of what we’re feeling is just overflow compared to what she can actually do if she’s trying.”

“How do you know?”

“I can just sense it. It’s the same as when you’re fighting someone and you know they’re going easy on you.”

Stiles thought about it. “If she turns out to be evil, we’re totally screwed.”

Derek sighed. “It wouldn’t be any different from the other times we trusted someone.” He sounded so sad and worn out that Stiles just wanted to wrap his arms around his neck and never let go.

Which totally wasn’t weird, okay? Stiles sometimes wants to hold Scott, too. Except Scott was his best friend and Derek was….an acquaintance? No, they’ve been through too much for that. An ally? Nah, that’s where Deaton fell, and Derek was higher on the “Stiles Stilinski Friendship Board.” Buddy, maybe? Stiles looked at Derek and immediately dropped the idea. He, being the mass of perfectly sculpted muscle that he is, could hardly pass for being anyone’s “buddy”. He was way too brooding and stupidly attractive for that. And attractive in a completely objective kind of way. Not that there was anything wrong with finding Derek _subjectively_ attractive. It was just…weird? Not like _wrong_ weird. Because Stiles could see someone being romantically attracted to Derek. What with the cheekbones and the scruff and the stupid Rainbow Brite eyes and the collarbones…and Stiles definitely needed to stop this train of thought because Derek was looking at him like he could just smell what he’s thinking…and oh my God he probably could.

Stiles was saved from sheer mortification by the front door sliding open and two pairs of steps walking into the living room.

“Honey, I’m home,” Mia called.

Stiles practically ran out of the kitchen.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I will try to update quickly and regularly!
> 
> Until then, follow me on tumblr!
> 
> Fandom: www.hoechlinanddylan.tumblr.com
> 
> Dyl Only: www.honeyalmonddylan.tumblr.com


End file.
